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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845798">we'll face this snow together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics'>saltfics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red White &amp; Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Because I can, Canon Compliant, Fluff, I will be using the AUs in this, M/M, Monster Apocalypse, Superpowers, Villains, look at me tagging fluff like a nice person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:39:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of winter/holiday prompts based on RWRB Winterfest.  SOME of the prompts are based on previous AUs (links inside).</p><p>1. Villains AU: Hot chocolate<br/>2. Canon Verse: Cold Hands<br/>3. Villains AU: Illness<br/>4. Canon Verse: Fuzzy Socks<br/>5. Apocalypse AU: Cold Hands</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor &amp; Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor &amp; Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>RWRB Winterfest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In-universe with <a>Playing His Game</a> . I GUESS you could read it without it? My multichapter AUs deserve some cute fluff too, y'all. Hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He never realized how uncomfortable he is wearing his suit in public for no reason. Clearly, there’s a reason why he’s not the kind of over-glorified hero who participates in public appearances, aside from the fact that this city is not the kind to sanctify its heroes, or that Alex isn’t the most moral role model to begin with.  Even with the mask on his face, he feels like they can all see through him, and even though this spandex-looking fabric is the socially acceptable hero costume, he still feels super dumb wearing it.</p><p>And yet, after the hundredth post he saw of people hoping they would get to see some of the superheroes in the Christmas Market like they were a couple of fucking Santa Claus’ elves, and the thirty additional times Portal told him she wanted to go, Alex had caved to the request. Kid, however, wasn’t coming. As it turns out he always goes back to England for Christmas, so at least Alex has that going for him.</p><p>He lost Portal in the crowd within an hour. She keeps blinking in and out of places to make the kids whoop and laugh, so Alex has spent the past forty-something minutes strolling around by himself, nursing a cup of hot chocolate that’s barely even warm at this point. The Christmas Market is perfectly charming, all little wooden houses decorated with fake snow and tinsel and an absurd amount of fairy lights. The air smells of melted sugar and wine, and it makes him want to overspend on sickly sweet things he’s going to regret later. But as beautiful as it is, he would much rather spend an afternoon here with June and Nora, instead of wandering alone, and he can’t do that while he’s in costume even if he knows they’re somewhere there in the crowd.</p><p>He has just downed the last of his chocolate when a voice comes up behind him.</p><p>“Hello there.”</p><p>Alex yelps, earning confused glances and more than a few chuckles from people passing by. He turns around to find nothing but air and snow and a grinning old vendor in his booth too far away from him to have been the one talking. Frowning, Alex carefully stretches his hand out in front of him until his fingers brush against fabric.</p><p>“Take me out to dinner first,” the voice whispers, tangled in a soft laugh.</p><p>“I know that’s your stomach, you ass,” Alex scoffs, his own words just as quiet, speaking from the corner of his mouth so people don’t realize he’s talking. He turns back around so he can pretend to watch the people walking around the market but he keeps their shoulders close together to make sure the other is still there. “What are you doing here? I doubt they invited you.”</p><p>“I can’t enjoy some holiday cheer?”</p><p>“I guess,” he shrugs. “You’re not going to steal the gifts, are you?”</p><p>“Is that how you think of me? As a Grinch?”</p><p>Alex sighs. “Not really. If anything you’d be the kind of person who’d rob a toy multi-corporate that like, secretly donates to fascist organizations, and then just dump the toys here.” Figures it would be Alex to have an arch-nemesis too nice to actually stop so they can both play hopscotch with line of right and wrong like schoolchildren. “Was that your plan?”</p><p>Mirage chuckles, the sound sending a chill down Alex’s spine. “Not this year.”</p><p>“That’s <em>almost</em> a threat. Please tell me I won’t need to fight you during the holidays, Invisiboy. Come on, give me a break.” He’s joking for the most part but it would also be really fucking nice if his secret job could leave him alone for the season so he can feel like a normal person for once. Plus hiding his extracurriculars from his family is always draining in all the worst ways. As much as June helps, she cannot take away the worry in his mom’s eyes since that has burrowed there from the day they almost lost him, or rather the one they got him back, or the way she acts when Alex is being weird like she wonders if somehow he returned wrong.</p><p>He’s thought of showing her more than once. But he thinks she already knows. She’s seen the news segments, the time-line matches and Ellen Claremont is no fool. So as long as Alex withholds that confirmation from her, she can sleep a bit better, not knowing for certain what her son is doing after dark. Alex loses enough sleep for the both of them.</p><p>Mirage shifts against him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Alex could swear he’s moving closer. “Are you…?” He snorts. “Are you snuggling closer to me?”</p><p>“You’re like a human radiator—are those your<em> powers</em>?”</p><p>“Might be. Never thought about it. Honestly, I just thought I was warm because of the chocolate.”</p><p>“Oh, that would do the trick.”</p><p>Alex must have spent too much time with him if he can grasp the slight longing in his tone.</p><p>“If you’re that cold why don’t you just get some for yourself instead of cuddling with the guy who might try to kill you?” he asks, raising his brows towards what he hopes is Mirage’s general direction.</p><p>“You wouldn’t,” Mirage says but he does move away from him, and okay, thanks, he feels like an ass now. “I think people just might notice if there’s a cup of hot chocolate floating around. And like you said, I wasn’t invited. Heroes only.”</p><p>Alex could argue about this both in his favor and against it but the last thing he needs is to tell Mirage he’s nice to his face, more than he already does by not dragging his invisible ass to jail every time they meet. Instead he decides to do something that will work for both of them. “Tell you what. You tell me what you’re planning for the holiday season, and I’ll help you drink your chocolate.”</p><p>“Truly?”</p><p>“Scout’s honor.”</p><p>Mirage is quiet for a moment. His shoulders brushes against Alex’s again. “All right. You weren’t far off. Just… not here. The children’s hospital.”</p><p>Alex’s heart clenches. “Where are you taking them from?”</p><p>“Spitfire, why don’t you go on vacation next week?”</p><p>He tries to look at him again, squinting his eyes at the emptiness where his voice is coming from like he could catch a glimpse, a shadow of his figure. He has to be wearing his costume to be invisible in it but is his face bare? Would he finally see a hint of his features if Mirage let him? There’s nothing but fairy lights next to him but if he focuses enough he can just pick up the barest puff of a warm breath in the cold air.</p><p>Alex smiles despite himself. “I think I might.”</p><p>Mirage bumps their shoulders together in response.</p><p>“Okay, time for my end of the deal I guess. Wait here.”</p><p>He buys another cup of hot chocolate, insisting that he pays for it after the vendor gave him the first one free of charge ‘for his service’. If he’s going to be feeding super-villains he should do that out of his own pocket.</p><p>The hole in his plan reveals itself when he returns and he… can’t see where Mirage is. Of course he can’t. Fuck. There’s a couple taking photos in the spot where they were and even if he had perfect eyesight he would not be able to spot a little cloud of a breath with all these people around.</p><p>“This is what I get for being nice to you,” he mutters under his breath, as he goes to take a sip from the chocolate he’s apparently going to drink himself. Oh, yay, more sugar.</p><p>He jumps when someone steps lightly on his foot but as he looks around, no one is close enough to have hurt him.</p><p>There’s an extra pair of footsteps on the snow in front of him.</p><p>Alex fights back a laugh. “Hey, is snow your mortal enemy? When it snows do you have a little white pile floating around on the top of your head?”</p><p>“Did it truly take you three seconds to give up on me and try to steal <em>my</em> chocolate?”</p><p>“You should be the <em>last </em>person to lecture me about stealing. And I paid for it!” Alex can’t stop the grin from spreading on his face as Mirage laughs nearby. “Okay, are you ready? Wait for my cue.”</p><p>“What are you—”</p><p> Ignoring him, he walks over to where most of the children have gathered. “Hey, kids! Do you want to see a magic trick?”</p><p>He thinks he hears Mirage groan somewhere behind him.</p><p>All the kids and a number of adults turn to him at his exclamation. He sees the recognition on their faces and he tries to focus only on those who seem happy to see him and not on the ones who would have him arrested if they could—he can see the distaste on their faces, so stark against the holiday cheer the surrounds this place. Once they realize he’s messing around, most of them turn back to their business but a couple of kids break off the mold and approach him, waiting with their big, curious eyes to see what he’ll do.</p><p>“Don’t get too excited now <em>but</em> I know one trick and I know it really well. You ready? I, Spitfire, hero extraordinaire, will make <em>this </em>cup”—he shows off the hot chocolate with the flair of a magician presenting his empty hat— “float in the air.”</p><p>Some children giggle in front of him. If Mirage bails on him now, Alex is going to kill him. “In three… two…” He feels Mirage’s fingers against his own around the cup. “… One!”</p><p>Alex lets it slip from his hands and though Mirage fumbles with it for a second, it looks like it’s floating. It stays in the air on its own then gets lifted towards what he can assume is Mirage’s mouth as Alex points at it with exaggerated movements.</p><p>He’s surprised Mirage doesn’t dump the whole thing on his head for the unnecessary drama.</p><p>With the kids still gathered, he decides to play some fire tricks as well, crudely-shaped birds born of flames like phoenixes flying around them, swirls and storms and whirlwinds in his hands, if only to redirect the attention from Mirage who must be trying to finish his drink in peace. Relative peace.</p><p>The combination of both ‘tricks’ leads to some confusion in the audience as the two spectacles  neither match in powers nor are they at all coordinated. The headlines in the morning might be more accusatory than usual if somebody notices the second pair of footsteps next to his. But he can hear Mirage laughing and he can see the children staring with open mouths and wide eyes in front of him, and maybe it’s fine if the media questions him once more.</p><p>He’ll even let Mirage do his thing next week too, if he wants to. Alex can always kick his ass after the holidays. Even supervillains deserve a gift after all, if they’re as nice as he is.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Idiots. XD I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot! I'll be doing some of the prompts of the winterfest and as you can see from the tags I'll be including prompts taking place in 'volatile times' too, as well as the in-white/stairs/canon verse. We'll see! If there's a particular prompt you'd like to see with a specific verse please feel free to let me know (with no guarantees) either here or over @ saltfics on tumblr!</p><p>Let me know what you thought!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. canon verse: cold hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Canon verse but compliant with the <a>in-white</a> stories. You absolutely do not need to read them but there are baby Foxes courtesy of Martha and Philip and Philip has had somewhat of a redemption arc so they're more comfortable than you would expect in canon.</p><p>Content Warning: Heavily themed around religion</p><p>HUGE thanks to hms-chill for proof-reading after taking pity on the fact that it's 4 am here. XD (Go send her some love after this~)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There are few royal duties Henry dreads as much as going to church with this family. He has avoided it as much as he could, but as the most recent battle of negotiations ended up with him in England for Christmas morning, he had nothing to say to excuse himself. He missed his last chance when he followed his family to Sandringham, but the only thing more dreadful than spending the next few days with his family is spending it without them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Christmas morning in Sardringham means a church service in the morning. At least it's a full house. With his mum and Bea by his side, his  nephew sneaking glances and smiles with him from his father's arms ahead while his niece is safely tucked and sleeping in her own mother's arms, he can almost ignore his Grandmother, or anyone else in the Church who might have an opinion about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes Alex was there. He was supposed to be there the night before, but the weather was against them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air is crisp and it stings against his cheeks. It seeps through his coat, the blue one that Alex loves but earned him a side-look from his Gran, and hides deep within his bones so every piece of him is cold and heavy and forlorn. He feels oddly starved for touch, and he wishes he could take Bea's hand, but the press is already watching; there's been too many camera flashes for a process that, at least in theory, was so supposed to be so personal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>St. Mary Magdelene's church is as beautiful as it is daunting, a small castle with windows so dark it looks haunted. As they walk inside, heat drapes around them like a scarf that quickly tightens and tightens. The scent of frankincense and myrrh is overwhelming, while their clothes were not made for the temperature inside and he already finds it uncomfortable to breathe in. Still, he waits, watching his family for a cue that it's okay to take his coat off that he never gets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes his seat between Martha and Bea, and tries not to spend the entire service playing with the baby in his sister-in-law's arms. The sermon starts and Henry quickly finds himself drifting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chapel is beautiful, if somewhat overbearing, decorated with patterns and scenes from top to bottom. But there is a stained-glass window at the far back, and ever since he was a child, his sight has always gotten trapped there. The teal and blue light is stark against the earthier tones of the rest of the church, a soft, cool touch against his racing mind. Henry lets the sight take over, focusing on the bright, soothing tone to wash everything else away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His relationship with religion has already been a complicated one. He wasn't like Alex, with religion braided into his family and tradition, held in a warm place in his heart even if he didn't believe it in the same way. He spent his childhood in churches like this one, where everyone was watching him, where he had to be too quiet, too stiff, too perfect, where he spent more time worrying about not disappointing anyone than focusing on the message, though he latched on to one thing. Love. He believed, perhaps correctly, or maybe foolishly, that he had gotten the gist of it and thinking that was enough, he kept coming back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Church was a responsibility, like all the rest, but when he got used to it, it was also the thing that he did with his granny. He didn't do a lot of things with her, even as a kid. For some reason, that would take him years to understand, by the time he was born, his parents had lessened and lessened the contact they allowed her to have with her grandchildren. So it was almost pleasant to spend time with her. And in a sense, it was not surprising that when he lost his relationship with his grandmother, he lost his relationship with the Church. She didn't want him anymore and he assumed the Church didn't either, even if he tried to remind himself it was only the constitution of it that said so. And when he was dragged here over and over again, burdened with the knowledge of what his Gran truly thought of him, his own self-hatred eating away at him, he held onto the one thing he could like the last flickering flame in darkness. Love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love, he told himself. That's the essence of it. That's what matters. So how could he be judged for love?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he sits tucked between his family, aching for his heart an ocean away,  and his eyes stare at the same spot they have rested on for years. Except now he knows what love feels like. </span>
</p><p><span>How absurd, how vile</span> <span>of them to hate him for it.</span></p><p>
  <span>The church is stuffed and overbearing, the walls towering and closing over him. The scent is cloying, bringing in mind the presence of something </span>
  <em>
    <span>old, </span>
  </em>
  <span>something ancient. And he envies those who can feel love and safety and home in here, those who embrace it the way it was intended, before they twisted the meaning behind every word, until not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> was left standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry tilts his head to the sky—no, the ceiling, just as decorated and overbearing above him—and it looks like he's praying but he closes his eyes, wishing he could leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clenches his hands together; despite the warmth, they're so, so cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of the priest's voice reverberates against the high walls, and Henry wonders if the sounds change with every echo, if the words come softer with every try, or if it's this vastness is what renders them sharper, the power that humans have in place that's meant to be holy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's funny then, how the one sound he manages to focus on is as simple and powerless as the beginning of a baby's cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry opens his eyes again to see Martha at his side trying to discreetly rock her fussy daughter back to a calmer state. Her face lacks any obvious discomfort but Henry can see the way her hands are stiff around the baby girl's dress, the pressure Martha feels to maintain a dignified image for something that's so natural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches out. "Let me," he whispers. He doesn't turn to see the looks his Gran is undoubtedly throwing his way. "I'll take her outside."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you leave?" Martha whispers so quietly he can barely hear her himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not the most offensive thing I've done to the Anglican Church," he says with a humorless smile as he takes the baby into his own arms with great care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring everyone on his way, Henry quietly steps outside, waiting until he's out of earshot to start whispering to the little princess, rocking her gently. He might sneak a thank you in there too, just for her ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vee calms within the next five minutes, but Henry doesn't return. He holds her close, makes sure she's warm and takes her for a walk around the grounds. They walk through trees and gravestones, through ancestors of theirs they'll never meet, as unknown to her as they are to Henry, and this connection makes a strange feeling stick between his ribs, uncomfortable and pressing deeper than it should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Victoria hides her head into the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing in that baby scent that still clings to her like proof of her innocence. And he thinks of love again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His family soon starts filing out of the church and he thinks of forgiveness too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea reaches him first, a gentle smile on her face full of empathy. Henry walks to meet her halfway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Everything all right, Hen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're fine," he nods, giving the baby a fond smile. "She must have minded the scent. Calmed down the moment we got out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet you stayed here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not as brave as she is," he teases, earning a half-hearted snort and a more studying gaze for his trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind her, Queen Mary is saying something to Martha, who has Arty in her arms, and his mum has stuck around with them, trying to protect yet another of her children, biological or otherwise, from the cutting tongue of her mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip is heading towards him, most likely to relieve him of the baby in his hold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea lets out a long exhale, looking at Martha as well. "You got your mum in trouble, you little menace," she says, her voice full of endearment as she tickles the baby. "We're supposed to stick together against Gran, didn't you get the me—Henry, your hands are </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezing</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Bea exclaims when her fingers brush against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am aware." His knuckles started aching ages ago. "I may have forgotten my gloves."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Henry</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's the matter?" Philip asks as he approaches, having caught only the tail-end of their conversation. "Is everything all right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Henry here is testing out the charm of frostbite."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are severely overreacting. Besides, I'll just hold on to this human radiator," he smiles at Victoria, giving her a little wiggle and making her laugh, "and I'll be warm enough."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If that was true you wouldn't be freezing now," Bea points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip looks behind him at his wife, still at the mercy of Gran, for a moment before turning back to Henry, his eyes narrowed and calculating yet lacking the usual sharpness that accompanies that look. He slips the gloves from his hands and passes them over to him. "Would you trade your pocket-sized radiator for a pair of gloves?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Truly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It might surprise you but I am rather attached to her."</span>
</p><p><span>"Counterproposal," says Bea.</span> <span>Then she promptly takes the child from Henry before he can react and heads off with all of her royal dignity towards the car, leaving Philip to stare after her for a second. </span></p><p>
  <span>Henry thinks he might go after her but he just sighs, the exasperation not as biting with his lips tugged upward as they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still offers the gloves to Henry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you certain?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a three minute walk to the car, Henry, I won't miss them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry takes them from him; the wool lining inside is still warm from use. They walk together, a few paces behind the rest of their family. As they get further and further away from the church, Henry can't help one last look behind him. It doesn't seem any less haunted now than it did when he arrived. A castle. A fortress. Isn't it meant to be a house? Why does it look so daunting?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you all right, mate?" Philip asks when he doesn't resume walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I ask you something?" Henry says instead, his eyes still roaming over the dark brick, the closed windows. He's the last person Henry should ask. Or maybe he's the best one because once he too turned him away. "Do you like going to church?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip raises his brows for a moment but doesn't deny him an answer. "Not particularly, I must admit. Nevertheless, it's part of our duties."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even for me?" he asks before he can stop himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why wouldn't you?" Philip frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head and turns away, finally starting to leave. Philip grabs his arm, a question in his eyes. "I just..." Henry sighs. "There is a great number of people who would probably think I shouldn't be here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip scoffs. "And since when do you care about that?" There’s disdain in his words and it takes Henry longer than it should to understand it's not aimed at him. "I don't remember exactly what you yelled at me when I once very foolishly screamed at you a similar thing but if you could say it to me, I'd like to think you could say it to them, don't you think?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns and starts to walk towards the rest of the family who made no effort to wait for them apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In any case, the church has had to deal with worse Henry's, including its founder. We can discuss it again when you manage to outdo that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See, somehow I don't think I'll go that far," Henry huffs, taking a few hurried steps to catch up to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. Oh, but Henry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry looks towards him, his heart clenching in fear of what he might say. There's always a footnote, a stain on the page. Though Philip has gotten better at not taking things from him, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the end of his sentences still threatens all their conversations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please do not skip Christmas church when you're here. Spare me the publicity nightmare. Consider it my gift."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry chokes on a laugh, his relief tangling with surprise into a mess of breath. "If that's so, then have a very merry Christmas, Pip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Could this impromptu pep talk perhaps count as my gift to you then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not a chance."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nobody actually likes Philip, they just like stealing his babies away because they tiny.</p><p>Big thanks to everyone who commented on the previous chapter! I hope you liked this one as well!  Let me know what you thought~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. villains au: illness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Villains AU: Illness</p><p>Alex should know better than to attempt hero-ing while sick. Fortunately for him, his arch-nemesis likes him too much to take advantage.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Same as chapter one! Sorry for the delay with the prompt, uni was kicking my ass all weekend :C I might come back and edit this/rewrite it at some point because I realize it was 70% dialogue but like I said uni has been... a lot, sooo.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alex is having the worst day. Not the actual worst day—he's been through more terrible things, including dying, and you'd think that would have taught him not to take things too seriously. But no. Alex has a cold. Therefore he is miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up in the morning with an aching throat and a pounding headache that only gets worse by the newscast Henry has playing on his phone. He catches about five words from it and one of them is his superhero name, so Alex tosses a pillow his way to make him shut up because apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>grunting </span>
  </em>
  <span>aggressively at him isn't enough of a clue to get him to stop it. Except the pillow lands on a metal tin on the bookcase he didn't even know he owns and it falls down with a resounding clang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry doesn't even stop the damn newscast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex powers through two hours of lectures before he admits he cannot focus for longer than three minutes at a time and heads home. But much like his attention span, his peace also lasts about three minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Unless you're dying I'm not coming," he groans at his phone, his voice muffled from where he mushes his face against the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>How bad would you feel if I actually was dying?</em>" Portal asks from the other end of the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not that bad. I'd just come over."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>Then do.</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Portal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>Well, your absence is killing me.</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not good enough." He hangs up the phone, tossing it to Henry's side of the room. Until he realizes that he tossed it to Henry's side of the room, and though the guy is probably discreet enough not to go through his phone, Alex can't afford to risk it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets up to fish his phone from where it lodged itself between Henry's mattress and the wall. What he actually needs is food. And some water. And some meds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there's an ever-present buzz in his head and his stomach twists at the idea of eating. </span>
  <span>How does a person with fire powers even check for fever? Isn't he always running hotter than everyone else? And not just in looks?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yelps when the phone rings in his hand and he doesn't even bother checking the caller ID before he snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"P, I said I'm <em>not</em> coming, I'm sick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>You're sick?"</em> June asks instead. "<em>What's wrong?</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex walks back to his own bed and plops down with a thud. Then groans because that shakes his head way too much. "I... fuck, give me a moment..." He takes a deep breath through his nose, willing the dizziness away. "... I might be a bit sick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>You sound terrible.</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait—why are you calling me on my work phone?" June hesitates. "Please tell me you don't have work for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>I'm sorry."</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it Mirage?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>We can call Portal</em>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it Mirage?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>Alex, I'm sure she can handle him for you.</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not Mirage, Bug," he sighs, running a hand through his face. He really feels like shit. He's been talking to her for two minutes and his voice is already weak. His head is killing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might kill Mirage today out of sheer irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, June, do you think I can burn out this infection by over-increasing my own temperature?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>Did you pass high school biology? Don't you even.</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I can't go to work like this! Fever and high-tech spandex don't match."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora joins the call, while he didn't even realize he's on speaker phone. "<em>You ever heard of medication?</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Not</span>
  <span><em> the drowsy kind,</em>" June hurries to add. "<em>Are you sure you don't want to call Portal?</em>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"<em>We can also call Kid</em>," Nora teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet we won't. Send me the location, I'll go check it out."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you doing here?" Alex yells when he spots a too familiar figure outside the address June gave him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is not a great look on you," Portal says, squinting up at him behind her mask from where she's sitting cross-legged on the pavement. "You're really angry when you're sick, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously, how did you get here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm your backup. Apparently. I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> called me?" June. </span>
  <em>
    <span>June. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, if he survives this, he's going to kill her. "You didn't call me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, tough. I'm here, let's just get this over with."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the girls can guide Alex inside, Portal immediately decides to fuck it, and grabs onto him. They're already gone before Alex can even finish saying <em>I hate it when you do that.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Portal's teleportation always feels like someone punched him in the stomach. Then reached for it through his bones, twisted it a few times and let it flop back into shape like a rubber ball, while the first three seconds of re-materialization  came with a pins-and-needles feeling that went from his toes all the way up to the crown of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, all in all, very pleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any chance of not alerting Mirage to their presence goes away the moment Alex connects to his surroundings. He groans, bending over with his hands around his waist, waiting for his insides to come out. If teleporting was bad enough on a good day, when he's already aching and dizzy from whatever illness decided to be a dick to him, it's pure torture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>walked</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he grunts, closing his eyes until it passes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't sound sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been sorrier."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the bloody hell are you two doing?" comes Mirage's voice from somewhere in front of him. "What happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Alex hasn't looked up yet, not that it would make much difference, but he's certain that disdained </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>refers to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I'm—Where the heck are we?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around now and this doesn't look like Mirage's typical MO. He's more of a 'stealing food and toys and clothes from multi-corporate stores and distributing them around' kind of person. Allegedly. This time, however, they were in what looked like a corporate office, most likely on one of the top floors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mirage manifests a few steps away from him. "You look... pale, are you all right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Portal snorts. "I love how you guys are enemies."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, of course he likes me. His other option is Kid," Alex jokes to distract himself from the dizziness but Mirage tenses, shifting with discomfort. "But seriously what are you doing here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I gave you a convincing enough reason, would you actually let me go without a fight?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex lets out a long breath through his nose, though it does little to relieve the pressure on his head. "Today I might."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then please, by all means, show yourself out," Mirage nods, and promptly disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get back he—Nope, no. I'm out," he bails mid-sentence, doubling over as the nausea refuses to dissipate. "I'm dying. I quit. Kill me now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Again?" Portal asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off." Portal reaches for him and he panics. "Don't you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare </span>
  </em>
  <span>make me teleport."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, how do you want me to—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Portal, I swear I'll—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex jumps when something grabs him from behind, and he's heating up, sparks of flames traveling from his palms up his arms—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, don't! Don't do it," Mirage exclaims from too close behind him. "Easy." He wraps one arm around Alex's waist, guiding Alex's own arm over his shoulder. "I'm going to help you get out of here, all right? We'll call it even."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must take Alex's groan as agreement because he starts leading them all outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to call whoever it was that called me here to help you and tell them to come pick you up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They know," Alex grunts. He may have lowered the volume the moment his headache reached its peak but he knows the girls have been watching. "<em>Thanks</em> for the help, by the way," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hardly my fault you came to work sick, dude."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're right, it's Mirage fault."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will leave you here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mirage disappears every so often, and the less he knows about how he gets in and out of buildings the better for him to keep up the illusion that Mirage is still mostly a good guy. It makes them take a while but they manage to get outside, and as far as silver linings go at least Alex is too sick to be embarrassed about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fresh air eases up the sick feeling in his stomach somewhat but he still lets himself slide down against the nearest wall, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest as he waits for June to come rescue him. Model hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Considering you got me out of the building, I suppose you did do your job after all," Mirage says ahead of him. "Feel better soon?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Screw you," he mutters, without much bite behind it. "Hey, Mirage?" Mirage hums. "What were you looking for in there?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He surprises him by replying. "Proof." Sort of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'll see if I find it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex huffs. "So you're coming back here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not as far as you're concerned."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's fair. He'll give him that one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can't believe you were that dumb."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't believe this is your bedside manner," Alex moans, batting Nora's hands away from him. "Go away." After drawing the short end of the stick probably, Nora came to pick him up and get him home. Her scolding was not as bad as June's would be—which will still happen, they assured, when he feels better—but she was way too smug about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry I'm not as helpful as Mirage," she teases, picking up her coat from where she discarded it on the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, shut up. I get this shit from Portal, not you too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thermometer beeps. Alex grabs it before Nora can. Fuck. Okay, he really tried to play hero with a fever. Great. Neither Portal nor, to be honest, Mirage would ever let him live this down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on. It's cute that he helped you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, almost makes up for the fact that he killed me," he deadpans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora starts to say something when the front door opens. Alex grumbles on instinct before Henry even has a chance to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see your mood hasn't improved from this morning," Henry remarks for a greeting. Alex hears the rustling of a plastic bag as his roommate unloads his things on his side of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's sick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," he says with too much bright a tone. "That's why I brought this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curiosity might be the only thing strong enough to get him to move. Alex lifts his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How sweet," Nora grins with a surprising amount of mischief. "How did you know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own smile is tight when he replies. "He was exceptionally grumpy this morning, and his voice sounded like he spent the last seven years chain-smoking. Call it a lucky guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What'd'ya bring?" Alex whines, trying to push himself up to a sitting position. "Is that soup from the Chinese place? You actually brought me food?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'm waving it around to be a dick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're being a dick right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, you boys have fun!" Nora declares, ending their conversation and slipping out of the room. "Alex, don't be dumb again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closes behind her and the two of them sit in silence for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why did she say that? What did you do?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> I do?" he sighs. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders, contemplates getting up for a second, before he just looks at Henry with his nose all scrunched up and reaches his hands out towards him. "Gimme."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry snorts. "I'll go get some cutlery."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend the night sharing dinner, half-watching a movie in the background. He still won't say that he and Henry are friends or anything more than civil, but it's nice for a change. The food is great, the company tolerable. It makes the illness a little more bearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the next day, he'll blame it on the fever but right before he falls asleep that night, he thinks he hears Henry chuckle softly in the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get some rest, hero."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know the villains chapters are not for everyone but I hope you're enjoying them! Let me know what you thought! </p><p>Find me on tumblr @ saltfics  for all your yelling needs!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. canon verse: fuzzy socks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Holidays in Sandringham are almost tolerable when the Fox siblings decide to actually get along.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this prompt is like a week late, it happens.</p><p>This says 'canon verse' and it IS but it's also very deeply in-white-verse, because there's a LOT of Fox siblings emotions here, and Philip is definitely ooc if you haven't read those XD You can still absolutely read it, just know that everyone is a lot closer than you'd expect them to.</p><p>For anyone interested in timeline stuff, this is actually probably directly the night before chapter 2 of this prompt list (what is order anw) and it's about a year plus after the stairs fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Winter holidays in Sandringham are not his favourite time of the year. The 'house', as they dare call it, is vast and empty much in the same way Kensington is, if not more, considering how little time during the year it homes any of them. Anmer Hall is close by, and Henry sometimes wonders if it wouldn't feel nicer to let his brother host Christmas instead, even if that means, well, letting his brother host Christmas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the absurd number of rooms lets them hide from Gran. Like right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the rest of his family is gathered in the sitting room, Henry and Bea have slipped into an empty dining hall, drinking hot chocolate and butter biscuits. They're both dressed in oversized pyjamas, thick robes worn on top to protect them from the cold, and Bea has her feet up on Henry's lap, the perfect spot to nudge him in the stomach when he teases her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mm—Seriously, Hen, when did you learn to make this so well?" Bea asks as she plays with the mug in her hands, a chocolate mustache left on her lips.  "Last time you prepared hot chocolate for us you didn't even manage to dissolve the powder."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry picks up a biscuit from the plate. "Alex has high standards for his hot beverages and I'm already truly hopeless at cooking. I thought at least I would learn to do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea raises a perfectly pointed brow. "Are you telling me that Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz would ever not accept a drink from you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, not a chance but that doesn't mean I want him to suffer through it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at him but she's smiling. "Well, I for one am grateful for it. Is he not coming, by the way? I thought you were both supposed to spend Christmas with us this year?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"His flight was delayed until tomo—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creak of the wooden door redirects his attention. Henry cranes his neck but though the door opens and closes, he can't see anyone there. Until hurried footsteps tap against the floor too softly, and he smiles long before a head of golden curls peaks from the top of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea chuckles, opening her arms before the child even rounds the corner. "Where are you sneaking off to, darling?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here," Arty chirps, as he tries to climb up his aunt's lap. "Bored."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea lowers her feet to have better balance and lifts him into her arms. "You got bored with your grandma and the rest?" she asks, pressing a kiss to his forehead to make him squirm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"V was loud," Arty says, scrunching his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry smiles, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "You don't like being a big brother?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'is fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea readjusts her hold on him, lifting him higher. He also has a robe over his pyjamas, fluffy and baby blue, with his name stitched on the side. It's too cute but Henry hopes Alex never sees it, because he wouldn't put it past him to gift him a matching one as a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah?" Bea asks, drawing the word. "Well, it’s a big change for you. I remember when Henry was born, I had the biggest fit." She grins at him over Arty's head, her eyes fond despite the mischief in her smile. "I could not stand another brother after Pip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that true?" Henry huffs. "You never told me that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You grew up likable, I couldn't hold the grudge."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty turns big eyes on her, still full of curiosity. If only one thing about him stays the same as he grows up, Henry hopes it'll be that look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did Gran say to—to care for him? Mama says I've to watch her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea pretends to think about it. "Dad told me something similar. Did I do a good job, Hen?" she teases his way. So she must not expect the sincerity in his voice when he replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The best."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teasing in her face shifts into something more vulnerable, before she smiles, soft red dusting her cheeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you, darling</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she mouths, like he didn't just admit how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> helped </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Arty—well, then Arty asks this:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did Daddy care for you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bloody hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry and Bea exchange a look over the boy's head, stuck somewhere between shocked and horrified. How do they reply to that? Philip used to be nice to them, when they were much, much younger, and he could almost say that yes, back then he used to watch out for them in a sense, no matter how cocky he got about the fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they grew up. And Dad died. And what he did next may have been 'taking care of them' in his mind, and their grandmother's mind, but it was far from that to them. No, there was a time where Philip being nice to them meant staying as far away as possible, when the less things their brother knew about their lives, the safer they felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that's not something they can tell the three-year-old child that's looking for a role model to look after his sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uncle Henry?" Arty pouts when he doesn't reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry looks over at Bea but she can only shake her head, as lost as he is. "W-Well, love," he scrambles, sitting higher on his seat, "you were too young to remember this but, uh, when you were a baby—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens, sparing him from the rest of the story for a moment that is not going to last. Arty stands up, looking at the new arrival with a huge grin on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Daddy!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you think he's going to ask?" Bea whispers, biting down a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Give him three seconds."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Should I try to save him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry shrugs. It would be nice to keep the holidays a little less heavy for one year. Somehow something always goes wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip walks over to them, the only one wearing actual clothes. He's even wearing a tie, that ridiculous man, though at this point Henry is glad he has ditched the suit jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello. I was wondering where you two had run off to. Arthur, please don't wander by yourself, the house is far too large."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Arty quickly apologizes, jumping off Bea's legs. "Daddy, did you—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, darling," Bea interjects before he can finish the question. "Did you see what Henry's wearing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bea.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Henry half-scolds, half-laughs. That wasn't what he expected when she said she'd try to spare Philip. "You promised not to make fun!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty looks at him, confusion on his face, until his gaze lands on Henry's feet. His eyes widen, then widen some more, his pouty lips parting in a silent gasp. He scuffles the last few steps to Henry's side and clumsily lowers himself to his knees by his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What on earth are you wearing?" Philip asks, as his son grabs at Henry's fuzzy socks, squealing in delight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"S</span>
  <em>
    <span>oft</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Arty announces like Santa has come a week early. Bea has a hand in front of her mouth to stop herself from laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry looks up at Philip with the most innocent look on his face. "They are indeed very soft."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's not just the fuzziness that's truly offensive to proper royal attire. They reach over his ankles to his thighs, an ugly yellow with a pattern of turkeys on it, distorted into new horrors by the stretching. It's a monstrosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry loves it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so does Arty apparently, who keeps running his hands on the fluffy fabric until he ends up hugging Henry's legs like a teddy bear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Err… Henry..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, lay off, we're technically home," Bea nudges at Philip before he says something he’ll regret. "We can wear what we want. Gran will have to live with it. Also it looks like your son is about to wear a pair too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty's head snaps to his dad, huge, hopeful eyes crashing through Philip's determination. "Can I? Please! Please!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Philip's defense, he talks himself out of it with some success. "Well, your uncle is wearing them now. What will he do without them? Maybe another day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately for him, Bea's amusement is contagious, so is Arty's excitement, and Henry has a solution to his cute nephew's problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have more pairs upstairs."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Philip can even think of interjecting, he removes Arty from his legs and takes his small hand in his. He meant to guide him upstairs to fetch the pair but in reality, it’s Arty who tugs him forward like an overexcited puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Henry," Philip calls as he follows them. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you have more pairs upstairs?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Inside joke. Alex gets me a pair every year. Fear not, it's not all turkeys."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are any of them worse?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea follows after them too, and together they all head to his room in search of more silly, fuzzy socks. Alex is going to have a day when he finds out. He actually finds three more pairs in his luggage, which leaves his siblings at the mercy of the toddler's cute eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry, showing no remorse for his actions, hands them all over to Arty to distribute them around as he pleases, forcing anyone who intended to decline to have to do it by rejecting the child instead, pouty lips and big, joyful eyes included. Even Philip is going to cave, and Henry needs to remember to take his phone out to snap a picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty passes the rainbow stripped ones to Bea, who accepts them with a quick kiss to his cheek. Not without some reluctance, Philip takes the blue ones he's offered, with the bright red tartan toes and heels. He manages to fight back a sigh but when he shoots an unamused look towards Henry,  Henry has no qualms about laughing at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to hand it to Philip. Half a minute of Arty staring at him full of expectation, a smile ready to turn into a grin on his young face, and Philip slips the pair on, ignoring his siblings who exchange shocked looks and laughs behind his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So proud of you, darling," Bea chuckles but there's a genuine softness in the curves of her smile, the lines of her eyes as her gaze shifts between all of them, relaxing in the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, yes," Henry says. "The horrifying truth of wearing socks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you don't think your socks are horrifying, Henry, you haven't taken a good look at those birds," Philip points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please say this to Alex."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What for?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have my reasons."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty has kept a pair of purple socks for himself, different kinds of puppy faces ready to be stretched on them. Alex has made sure to keep a good balance between the almost normal and atrocious ones during his sock selection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty studies the pair he's holding, his gaze far too serious for his face—he resembles Philip a lot more like this, and Henry can't hide another laugh when he realizes it. After contemplating his unknown problem for a few minutes, he nods to himself once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he places the socks on his hands instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Arthur..." Philip sighs, without a hint of surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's soft," he giggles, his sock-clad palms squishing his own cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea comes over to Henry's side and nudges at him. "Why didn't we think of that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip doesn't grace them with a look but as he picks his son up to return downstairs, it's clear the "do not" he grumbles is addressed to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two follow them downstairs and, after a moment of contemplation, they go back to the dining room instead of joining everyone else in the sitting room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can't know if the other two are feeling the same but Henry's glad for the attempt to prolong this as much as they can. Moments of peace with each other like this are fleeting and rare. The secrets they have left, the things they still keep from each other are no longer deep like roots, piercing and wrapped thrice around their pieces as they once were. Some scars still ache even as they heal but they are healing and every time they soften themselves around each other like this, their words stop scraping against the wounds, sparing them of any more pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Tea?" Bea asks,  heading to the kitchen before they can refuse. "I've got it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry reclaims his chair and drags a second one next to him so Philip won't need to take Bea's.  Philip nods at him as he sits down, Arty still in his arms, patting at his dad's face with his impromptu gloves. Philip blinks at the sensation with the slightest frown on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That does feel rather nice," he admits, sneaking a look at Henry as if to check his expression. "So what were you talking about before I interrupted you earlier?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arty jolts, suddenly remembering what he wanted to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much effort for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Daddy!" he asks, almost bending over backwards to look up at him. "Did you watch Uncle Henry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When you were small. Like me and Vee!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As in...?" Philip looks at him for help. His face falls when he catches Henry cringing. "Do you mean if I... watched out for him?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy nods, faster than a bobblehead in his excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip tenses, his fingers clenching around the fabric of Arty's little robe. "I... Well..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry bites the inside of his cheek, looking away from the conflicted look his brother is wearing. He doesn't know what Philip is going to say. He's not even certain what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants to hear. Arty should not be burdened with the truth; he's too young and he's only looking for a role model. Henry remembers how much he idolized his father. He doesn't want to take that from him, even if Philip was the one who ruined that for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, he can't bear to hear his pain dismissed. If Philip lies now, if he waves off what he did, it will hurt more than Henry cares to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip lifts Arty up, planting his feet on his legs, so now Arty is standing up, almost looking down at him. And he must not be used to being in such a position, because the happiness flees from his face, replaced by confusion and an almost reverent kind of attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry's heart clenches as he recognizes that look, that innocent, unwavering kind of love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Listen and pay attention now," Philip says. Despite the stern words, his voice is gentle and quiet, almost whispering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry catches a glimpse of Bea at the door but she lingers there, waiting to hear what he has to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wasn't the best to my siblings. One day, when you're a little older, we can talk more about it. But I can promise you, you'll be so much better to your sister than I ever was."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really?" Arty asks, his lip trembling slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely. Beatrice has done an amazing job at keeping us in line. And Henry..." Philip steals a glance at him at that, paling at whatever face Henry is wearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach is clenched in pain, emotions that shouldn't go together tangled and heavy in the pit of it. Guilt and gratitude and anger and pity. He wants to yell at him to stop, and he wants, with profound desperation, to hear the end of this sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Henry has been incredibly kind when he didn't have to, and I'm glad you can look up to him when I don't know how to help you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever fond of his uncle, Arty turns to him then, his sadness just as quick to slip aside for soft contentment. He reaches out for him with his hands, and Philip loosens his grip for Henry to help him into his own arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea lets herself in the room at last, a tray in her hands with a tea pot and three cups. "The kitchen staff don't like it when we do things ourselves apparently. I walked in the room and they all but told me to sit down and wait. They almost didn't let me bring it back." She waves Philip off when he tries to help her with the serving. "Did you lie about making the chocolate yourself?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did not! I'm just better at convincing people to be nice to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Youngest sibling skills,” Bea sighs, then tousles Arty’s curls. “This is what you'll have to deal with from V growing up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  They stay there for another hour or so, before the night starts lulling their youngest companion into sleep. Soon, Philip has to spare him nodding off on Henry's shoulder and excuses himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he leaves, however, with the sleepy kid nuzzled into the crook of his neck, Philip places his free hand on Henry's shoulder, urging him to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Henry... I—About before... I didn't want to have to explain..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's all right. I understand. I wouldn't have wanted you to," Henry admits, and it's true. No matter what Philip should be held accountable for, none of that is the kid's fault. And he's far too young to be disillusioned this way. "We're okay, Pip."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Philip nods, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they're gone, Bea exchanges her chair for the spot next to Henry, and after a moment of silence, she wraps her arm around Henry's shoulders and pulls him closer against her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was odd," she whispers, running her hands through his hair when he hums. "It wasn't bad though, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bea?" he asks, wondering if she can feel the smile that's already forming on his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you truly not want me when I was born?" He chuckles and it blooms into a laugh when she groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You absolute pillock, this is why I never told you!" She nudges at his head, almost pushing him away from her while he still can't stop laughing, but quickly keeps him close before he can move too far. "I love you. Even if you're a bit of a pain."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love you too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're getting up to return to their rooms as well when Bea freezes, her eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What is it? What's wrong?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Didn't Philip with Arty go through the sitting room first?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To let Martha know, yes. What about it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bea looks at him again, her eyes are alight, barely contained joy in her grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did he remember to take off the socks?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I need to text Alex not to come. Philip is going to murder him."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fluffy socks ftw.</p><p>It's 3 a.m. here and before writing this I spent like 10 hours studying so if something doesn't make sense/I have too many typos, I apologize! I'm not sure what was connecting when I edited XD Hope you enjoyed it anyway! Let me know what you thought before you go! </p><p>P.S.: Sorry for the lack of Alex! I have a mostly complete/in need of editing apocalypse au prompt with a LOT of firstprince goodness that should be uploaded soon to make up for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. apocalypse au: cold hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'Salt, there are other prompts.'<br/>' no ♡ '</p>
<p>This chapter is actually considered <b>canon</b>, and a slightly modified version of it will be added to the original story in the corresponding chapter.</p>
<p>Apocalypse AU  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782556"> here </a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alex has never been a morning person. Sure, he used to set alarms at ungodly hours for the sake of last minute cramming and he has been known to greet the first hours of the morning if only by not sleeping at all until that point, but he has never been a <em> 'let's watch the sunrise </em>' kind of person.</p>
<p>The end of the world did not change that.</p>
<p>Not at first anyway. He stayed up most nights, for sleep was more than a little difficult to grasp when the things that had murdered a good part of the population were literally knocking on his door—and his windows and the roof—so if, when he finally managed to doze off, he didn't get up for hours, well, it wasn't as though he had anything to do in the morning, nor anyone waiting for him.</p>
<p>Until Henry. </p>
<p>Once their roadtrip started, they had to set a strict itinerary. The trip from New York to Texas would normally take about twenty-six hours if nonstop but in their current circumstances, where they had to spend the nights holed up after sunset and at least a couple of hours beforehand preparing the place they'd use to do that, their active travel time was reduced. </p>
<p>By his calculations it should take them about five days if all goes well.</p>
<p>He's not sure if things going well is something he should count on in the middle of an apocalypse.</p>
<p>Still, they try, and that's how Alex ends up waking up in the early, too early hours of the morning, and finds, much to his frustration, that Henry has already woken up and left the room. A<em> gain </em>. Just because the bastard disappeared from his side the first time they did this, it doesn't mean he has to make a tradition out of it.</p>
<p>Alex searches for him around the store they used to spend the night, tracks his footsteps by searching for any destruction around him. Except the door hasn't been opened yet. The barricade built around it is still intact, even with Henry nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>His stomach climbs higher up to his mouth the longer he rushes around without success. Wide awake now, he goes through all the doors he can find inside the place. Bathrooms, offices. Nothing.</p>
<p>He runs into a metal door, left slightly ajar in a way they never would have dared the night before. </p>
<p>If Henry thinks this passes for a note Alex is going to shove him off the roof. Because, of course, it's the roof where he ends up.</p>
<p>The cold air hits him as he steps outside, and his eyes need a moment to adjust to the sudden light. He finds Henry sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the open space. If it wasn't for the looseness in his shoulders, the way he's leaning back on open palms, Alex might have panicked. Now, he feels his heartbeat ease again at the sight of him safe and whole, decidedly not monster-wrecked or snatched or eaten or whatever the hell it is that happens to those they never see again.</p>
<p>"How many times do I need to tell you to leave a note?" Alex grumbles as he takes a seat next to him, his legs in a criss-cross position that at least leaves him entirely <em>on </em>the roof.</p>
<p>Henry frowns. "My apologies. I assumed you still had a good half hour of sleep left in you. I would have returned soon."</p>
<p>The winter sky stretches in front of them, the little sun they'll get still not quite settled in. Hints of orange linger on the horizon where they're quickly giving way to pale shades of grey, the sun blocked behind thin clouds. The air is crisp around them, prickling through Alex's thin jacket. </p>
<p>Henry is not dressed much warmer than he is, his winter coat still tossed over the couch he slept on.</p>
<p>Alex huddles closer to him, their shoulders bumping as their arms press together, and though Henry stares ahead, a gentle smile softens the fatigue that drags him down every morning, when the toll of the night refuses to leave.</p>
<p>"I don't understand..." Henry starts eventually, "why they called this an apocalypse."</p>
<p>It's not what Alex expected him to say, if he expected anything at all. Then again it's very early in the morning. "Because the world is being ruined?"</p>
<p>Henry hums. "Yes. But what is it that got revealed?" He must sense Alex staring at him because he adds, "Apocalypse. It means revelation. To uncover. I'm frankly not certain why the Christian term for the end of the world got so prevalent. But even so. It's supposed to mean something, isn't it? So what is it that got revealed?"</p>
<p>Alex doesn't have an answer for him, can’t conjure one out of nowhere when he’s still so tired. So he mirrors his gaze. He stares at the fading orange tones and thinks of how much softer the sunrises are to the sunsets. Soft waves of morning light rather than skies adorned with fire before the darkness.</p>
<p>"Do you think we'll ever know?" Henry continues. "Do you think we'll realize at the end?"</p>
<p>He notes the use of <em>at </em>instead of <em>in </em>and lets his fingers curl slightly around the fabric of Henry's sleeve, knowing he won't mention it.</p>
<p>"Maybe," Alex shrugs. "Or we can find our own meaning."</p>
<p>"Is that so?" Henry's smile returns, wider. Alex returns the gesture. "So what do you think got revealed to you?"</p>
<p>"I—" His fingers brush against his hand by accident and he <em>jolts</em>. "Your hands are fucking freezing."</p>
<p>"You could have just asked to hold my hand for that, you didn't need to ruin the world for it."</p>
<p>"Never say I half-ass things," he deadpans before nudging at him. "I'm serious! Are you freezing to death? I didn't drag you here so you'd die of frostbite."</p>
<p>"I'm not going to die of—"</p>
<p>"Henry, I <em> cannot </em> treat frostbite."</p>
<p>Henry chuckles but as he moves his hands, curling his fingers, he winces, finally feeling it for himself.</p>
<p>Without thinking it through, Alex takes Henry's hands in his own. Then with even less thought, just intentions, he promptly shoves them under his armpits.</p>
<p>"What-what are you <em>doing</em>? Henry splutters. His face is so red—if only he could redirect that blood flow to his hands, they'd already be done with this.</p>
<p>"Warming you up," he announces with what he hopes is a determined expression but might as well just be a stubborn little pout. Henry's hands are even icier so close to his skin. "My abuela told me to do that when I was cold. Isn’t it better?”</p>
<p>"Well, I certainly have bigger problems than the cold now!"</p>
<p>"I'm the one getting colder, armpit first, why are <em> you </em> the one complaining?"</p>
<p>"You ever thought of just suggesting I use my own body heat for this or was it your goal from the beginning to torture me?"</p>
<p>Okay, that might have been the better plan.</p>
<p>Alex scoffs, trying to save face. "You're much colder than I am but <em>fine</em>. Do it yourself," he says, releasing him.</p>
<p>"How gracious."</p>
<p>True to his word, Henry copies the pose, though the red tint refuses to recede from his cheeks. His eyes can’t stay still, fleeing anywhere that’s not on him.</p>
<p>Alex can't help but smile. "You."</p>
<p>He perks up at the word though he still doesn't turn to face him. "What about me?"</p>
<p>"My revelation. You're much nicer than I thought you were."</p>
<p>And Henry... laughs. It starts out as a surprised snort that bubbles up inside of him, spilling from his lips louder and louder, some barrier broken, set free. It's contagious too, for Alex's smile expands until he starts chuckling, more subdued than Henry but understanding of the sentiment, the hysterical edge to it. </p>
<p>"Figures," Henry gasps between laughs, "that it would take the end of the world to get you to like me."</p>
<p>"Hey, I never said I liked you. I said you were nicer. Not the same thing.'</p>
<p>"Oh, you're right. My mistake."</p>
<p>They grin at each other as the laughter fades, quieting down as the grey takes over the morning. It gets a little warmer as the sunlight tries to break through, lingering just out of their reach.</p>
<p>They should start driving soon, Alex thinks.</p>
<p>"We should get going," Henry says and though he just thought the same, the words still bring an unpleasant twist to his insides. </p>
<p>This is the only time of their day that's almost easy. The first hours of light after the disaster, the gentle peace that they know is not going to last. It's too chaotic at night to share confessions so they soften their edges in the mornings instead, in those few moments they get when the world is barely awake in a way that feels almost normal, and the day can wait for them, if only for a little while, before reality can start pushing them forward again.</p>
<p>"What was <em> your </em> revelation?" Alex asks instead.</p>
<p>Henry is quiet for a moment that seems to stretch out forever, so long that Alex thinks he shouldn't have asked. But he turns to him and his eyes are heavy with something he doesn't understand, the layers of blue in them vulnerable and searching all the same. Henry looks at him, and Alex can only stare back. </p>
<p>His lips have gone paler from the cold, parted as if to speak. Alex's gaze keeps fleeting to them.</p>
<p>"I... I'm still looking for it, I suppose. Waiting."</p>
<p>Alex narrows his eyes at him, not quite understanding. "Well, let me know when you figure that out."</p>
<p>Henry's voice is quiet when he replies. "You'll be the first to know."</p>
<p>"Damn. Can't believe I beat all my competition."</p>
<p>Henry huffs, pushing himself to his feet. "Forget it. I'm never telling you anything."</p>
<p>Alex whines all the way down from the roof. </p>
<p>"Wait, no, that's not fair! I told you mine!"</p>
<p>"You said I wasn't an arsehole. Hardly the revelation."</p>
<p>"It was for me!"</p>
<p>And on their way to make breakfast before they left another makeshift home for another day.</p>
<p>"Fine, don't tell me. I know what your revelation is anyway."</p>
<p>"Oh, do you?"</p>
<p>"Yes. '<em>I need to pull that stick out of my royal </em>arse<em>. </em>'".</p>
<p>"You are insufferable."</p>
<p>"Yes, well, you're stuck with me, sweetheart."</p>
<p>Of course, Alex is eventually going to figure out Henry’s revelation. And when he does, he’ll finally understand what the look in those eyes meant when they gazed up at him, and he’ll realize, though he didn’t notice before, that his own might have looked the same.</p>
  </div></div>
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